


What you need

by b30wulf



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b30wulf/pseuds/b30wulf
Summary: This was based off a prompt someone gave me:Steve and Billy were playing basketball when Steve gets shoved too hard by Billy when reminding him to plant his feet. This leads Steve to break his leg and as a punishment, Hopper makes Billy look after Steve until he could walk again. This meant Billy had to live in Steve’s house every night and feed him and look after him. At first he’s stubborn and pissed off but soon a relationship and romance blooms between both boys.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	What you need

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look. I wrote this around a year ago. I meant it to be 2 chapters but never finished it. Honestly, I just wanted to post it as a reminder and maybe one day finish it. I still have lots of notes of ideas for this fic. So it might happen, but I wouldn't bet on it. Honestly, it might depend on the feedback. No less, enjoy what there is. It's a lot of them pissing each other off but also being fucking fluffy. The writing isn't terrible but I didn't edit it, so that's questionable. Also, I just realized that all of my italics didn't transfer. Uhm. _That could be bad_

It was smoldering outside, the air dancing to the sweet, melodic tones of heat. It had all but drifted from something like a spark to wavering fumes of fire, burning across Billy’s bare torso and sizzling out. He was sure if someone looked at him from afar, they’d think he was actually boiling. The air around him had somehow snaked itself into his body, and now it was straining through every pore, searching for a way to escape from drowning and letting out low sighs of relief as it condensated along his skin. 

Billy pivoted to his right, keeping the ball inaccessible to Steve, who rammed into his back, before pushing away and running around. He nearly fell in the process, elegant as always, but Billy had already made a bucket, a three-pointer that left Steve huffing. Indignant steps led him to be standing in front of Billy at the mid-way line, one hand on his hip and another raising his tank top to his upper lip and curving an indent along his philtrum. It was a frugal effort, because unlike Billy, Harrington seemed unfazed by the heat, barely sweating and holding a facade like he’d been playing inside a gym the whole time, rather than outside under the blazing Sun. 

With that cocky grin of his, Billy called Check, and bounced the ball to Steve, looking up at him through his curly blonde hair as he fumbled with the ball and eventually got it bounced back. Billy grasped it firm, and gave it a few well timed dribbles before he rushed past Steve, caught off guard when he looked to the side and Steve had the ball in his hands. He looked almost equally surprised as Billy and then he was pivoting and landing a bucket. And while Billy was still far ahead in the game, he couldn’t help but seethe and wipe his brow as he went to the spot where Steve had been standing not two minutes ago. The ball was flung to him as he was stepping up and if not for instinct, it would have hit him square in the face. He smiled, a smile really pretty and really evil and he threw the ball back to Harrington, watching with an amused glint to his eyes and he stumbled back a step before drilling forward with the ball. It seemed he was learning, copying what Billy had previously done and that’s exactly what he wanted. 

As Steve ran towards him, he tried pivoting right before he would make contact with his  
opponent’s frame, but Billy was too fast, had already anticipated it and he rushed into Steve, knocking him down. A sharp crack sounded through the air, what Billy identified as the sound of his own adrenaline. He raised an eyebrow at Steve who was wincing, and he leaned down, real close. “Remember to plant your feet.” Billy just lingered there a few moments, only retreating when he heard a broken sob coming from Steve. “Jesus Harrington, I didn’t take you as the type to cry.”

Then Steve was laying back, blubbering and trying to pull his knee up to his chest, only to fail and cry out for Billy to get the fuck up and call the nurse. Billy stared back at him with questioning eyes, like this was some sort of bullshit attempt fetching for sympathy. But when he looked down at Steve’s leg, he was immediately on his feet, something he knew Steve wouldn’t have the pleasure of doing for at least a few months. His whole leg was bent in this awkwardly impossible position that he dared not think about or describe. As if on instinct, he bent down and picked Steve up. It’s what he’d had to do for Max a few times when her dumbass got into a skateboarding accident. Steve wasn’t any different. Both of them were compulsively competitive, bitches, and light enough to carry. 

“I didn’t say to carry me, you asshole,” Steve barely managed without a few forced back cries. He still had his pride, after all.

“You’re not really in a position to complain, Harrington.”

So Steve shut his mouth, only letting out a few groans here and there because Billy was somehow running with him in his arms and every time he nearly tripped over or jumped up to go faster, Steve felt that throughout his whole body, including the leg that was hanging all but limply under his own back. Just like that, Steve watched as the afternoon Sun slowly faded out, as heat was replaced by a cool, air conditioned building which felt amazing after playing basketball with Billy his entire lunch period. But if he’d been having a heat stroke, right about now, he was sure the air conditioning didn’t make a damn difference because as much as he tried to focus on that small fraction of something that felt good he still only felt pain. 

And the weirdest part of it all, that really made his gut twist into an unbearable knot, was how close he was to Billy Hargrove. He could smell the way his cologne had faded so much that it was only something faded into the background, the most prominent scent being sweat, and Steve assumed it wasn’t unbearable because it was Billy and Billy took care of himself a lot like he did. And he could feel the heat of Billy’s bare chest against his arms, the wetness of sweat slowly sinking in through his tank top and making their skin stick together, something uncomfortable. As much as Steve tried not to think about it, it was there, way too close, and all his senses were just hyper aware of Billy. He hated how sick to his stomach it made him feel, but he also thought that it was a lot better than focusing in on the pain in his leg, throbbing all the way up through his spine.

Just like that, they were at the nurse’ door and Billy didn’t even bother knocking, just held Steve closer and opened the door, only slightly and then Steve began to fall. With a quick yell of Billy, what the fuck?! he was pulled back in the door was kicked open the rest of the way. It felt like it must have been only a second-- no, a split second-- and Steve had somehow fallen into that small table/bed to the side of the room and with nothing else to focus on besides Billy’s loud voice, the pain went rushing back to his leg and up through his body and all he could hear was his blood rushing behind his ears and it would be so nice to just sleep.

“So, you gonna explain to me why everyone’s sayin’ you broke Harrington’s leg or should I just lock you up for assault?” Jim Hopper questioned and Billy couldn’t help the tight knot that formed at the back of his throat. The way it always did when his father had him pinned up against a wall in the house, yelling at him to respect his mother and take care of Maxine because she was family now and he couldn’t just do whatever the hell he wanted. He held on to those nasty thoughts because those were the times, the only times that Billy Hargrove would cry, and he certainly had more pride than to cry here, at the sheriff’s station for a sports accident. Only he and Harrington knew that it wasn’t an accident. But it’s not like he meant to break the kid’s leg. Just wanted to rough him up a little and let him know that Steve wasn’t King anymore. Billy was and Billy always would be.

Finally, he was able to speak. “Look, Sheriff,” he put his hand down on the table, a small grin playing at his lips. “It was an honest misunderstanding. He rushed at me with the ball, wanted to get past me, but I was going fast too. He pivoted one way, when I ran into him and there was this really loud snap but I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just playing the game. Thought that Steve Harrington was tougher than what he looks.”

Hopper chewed a cigarette between his lips, only pulling it out once he’d decided to lean over the table, catch Billy’s eyes in his own. A grin played at his lips, too. “Well, since you seem not to know a lot about that Harrington kid’s strength, I’m sure you didn’t know he lives alone, either?”

Billy raised an eyebrow, about to open his mouth and ask why he should care, but then Hopper continued. “And since he lives alone, he doesn’t have anyone to look after him. But of course you wouldn’t care about that. No,” Hopper paused again but Billy already knew where this was heading: a living nightmare and he’d rather strap himself to train tracks and let himself be run over. “I propose, that since it is your fault Harrington’s gonna need help these next few months, that you be the one to help him.” Hopper smiled, stood up, and gave a nice firm pat to Billy’s shoulder, his grip a little too strong before he walked away.  
Legs spread wide, Billy slumped back in his chair, cheeks puffing out and eyes rolling back as he carded a hand through his fluffy, blonde curls. “So much for personal freedom,” he muttered and with much reluctance, stood up and followed the sheriff out of the station, where he was escorted to the hospital.

“Don’t get too cozy. I’ll be fucking miserable if you aren’t.”

Steve scoffed at Billy’s comment as he was making himself comfortable on his bed, snuggling into his uncharacteristically fluffy blankets and making sure not to move his leg much. That didn’t completely stable it though, and it still shifted with the rest of his body, sending a sharp pain up along his spine and making him groan.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Billy said and then grinned wide, standing up and listening to Steve grumble and complain about why the hell Billy was even around when he was the cause of this. Quite frankly, Billy thought Hopper just had a sore ass after he winked at the girl behind Joyce Byers at the grocery store, and Joyce had fuming ears at that, stomping away with Hopper in suit, but not before sending a glare back at Billy. One that still sent a shiver up through his body. It’s not like he knew Joyce would be looking, or that Hopper would give him so much shit about it.

Soon enough, Billy got bored of walking around Steve’s boring ass room and opted to sit back down next to the boy who was glancing awkwardly around the place like it was interesting as fuck.

“You gonna be like that the whole time?”

“Like what?” Steve asked, his tone defensive and it was so painfully obvious, that Billy almost scoffed.

He leaned closer to Steve, resting his elbows on his jean-clad knees. “Like one of those shy bitches that wants it but doesn’t know how to ask for it.”

And Billy laughed because as soon as he spoke Steve had this flustered look on his face, hand raised in the air and body leaning over to slapp Billy anywhere he could manage. Billy was too fast in scooting himself and the chair back, though, and Steve was left swatting thin air, cursing Billy for being such a dumbass and drawing him out of the comfy position that had taken a good two minutes to get situated in. But Billy just shrugged and remained seated, scooting himself back up because Harrington probably wouldn’t try hitting him again-- not that it would hurt, anyways. He was already blatantly aware of how weak Steve was, especially like this. Completely vulnerable.

“Y’know, I could do anything I wanted right now, and you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing,” Billy dragged the last two words out. Steve groaned and reached behind his back, grabbing his pillow and throwing it at Billy. To his surprise, it actually hit him square in the face and Steve grinned. 

“Sure about that? I have really good aim.”

Billy grabbed the pillow that had fallen into his lap. “You’ve also lost a pillow.” Billy smiled, something sarcastic with no teeth and then he glanced down to Steve’s foot. “Or maybe two,” he conceded, and when he went to grab the pillow resting under Steve’s leg, he was met with Steve’s hand instead. 

A warning slap was sent to Billy’s wrist, creating a sharp echo through the room. “Stop fucking around.”

But of course Billy wasn’t done fucking around and Steve gave a sharp intake of breath as his own wrist was twisted and the pillow was yanked from under him, sending a chilly pain through his leg as it fell onto the bed.

“Hargrove, what the fuck?” he emphasised as he pulled his wrist up to his body and comforted it. His chest was heaving fast now, his cheeks a light red as he looked at Billy with such pure hate that Billy could actually feel it radiating off of Steve and his body just took it in like he was starving. Like with his entire being, he wanted for nothing more than Steve Harrignton to hate him. 

His eyes snapped back to attention, where they’d been gazing off. Steve was waving at him, actually asking if he was okay like he wasn’t a complete asshole who deserved nothing more than to rot in this hellhole called Hawkins, Indiana. He blinked once, twice and then stood up, opting simply to leave the room because that? That really pissed him off. That Steve wasn’t even mad. Or maybe he was just scared. Something about thought settled even less easily in his gut and made him want to puke.

“Hargrove?” Steve asked, craning his neck to see where he had gone, but he was just standing there, in the middle of the hallway, hand on his head and lightly swaying back and forth. Steve wanted to get up and make sure he was okay, but he physically couldn’t and for the split second that his mind went somewhere else, he thought that it should be Billy wanting to make sure he was okay, not the other way around.

“Hargrove, can you hear me? Are you okay?” His heart was pounding fast in his chest now. The only phone in the house was in the kitchen. If something happened to Billy, he was sure he’d fucking dehydrate to death before someone came around, wondering where he’d been. Because not many people really cared about Steve Harrington. The voice in his head was lashing out now, not thinking about Billy anymore, but instead his own survival. He was sure that if Billy were actually there right now, they’d both awkwardly look at each other because of how hard Steve’s heart was beating. Billy would make some god awful, gross comment and Steve would add it to the slowly forming book of reasons why, after his leg was fine and dandy again, he was going to beat the shit out of Billy Hargrove.

“Fucking Hargrove,” Steve yelled, pounding one of his fist behind him on the wall. And that finally got his attention. He looked back at him like what the fuck and that’s what Steve should have been asking because Billy had just went blank like people do in horror movies, and then it turns out they’re possessed and they’re stabbing you a few dozen times before retreating. But then again, maybe Steve just watched too many horror movies. He raised an eyebrow but Billy didn’t say anything, just looked at him like he was a dumbass for freaking out.

“What happened back there?” he asked and Billy’s eyebrows knit together and Steve almost regretted saying anything.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and rubbed his temples, eyes closing as he sighed. Steve thought he looked a lot more relaxed like that.

“Are you su--”

“Nothing fucking happened, Harrington.” And now it was Billy who was yelling, eyes open again, challenging Steve to press on. 

But he didn’t. He nodded, whispering a silent Okay, and being unable to answer the question of why the hell Billy was so mad about this. And when Billy still hadn’t moved from where he was standing for what must have been the most tense minute ever, Steve looked back up at him. His eyes were closed again, and Steve could see the way a shaky breath had slipped passed his lips. Part of him wanted to shake Billy out of whatever was going on and the other part thought that it would be better to just leave him be.

In the end, he mustered up the words, “Hey, Hargrove?” and Billy looked at him, fresh fire burning in his eyes and he wondered whether or not it really would have been better to just shut the fuck up. He cleared his throat. “Will you get me some water?”

Billy blinked, seeming kind of shocked that Steve had asked him that. But slowly, carefully, he nodded and made his way to the kitchen. “Where are the cups, Harrington?” he called out and Steve said The cabinet right of the stove and then he heard shuffling and eventually the clinking of ice, soon deafened out by a steady flow of water. He took a moment to sigh and wonder how he’d even let this happen. Wonder why he had to have such a weak leg that could break so easily. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped leg day so much…

A few seconds passed and the sound of water stopped and Steve could hear the heavy footsteps of Billy approaching his room once more. He looked down at his feet and back up at Billy’s face who was holding out the cup. Steve looked at that, too and then pushed it back towards Billy. “A straw? I don’t like drinking without a straw.” And Billy almost slapped him because what the fuck?

“You think you’re a princess, Harrington?”

“Maybe,” he challenged and did a small hair flip to prove his point, only regretting it when Billy gave him a look that all but said, You know you look dumb as fuck, right? So he awkwardly coughed and told Billy to go get him a straw again, because he needed to take his nasty shoes off anyways, that were no doubt tracking dirt and who knows what else through his clean apartment.

With a small but definitely present glare, Billy complied-- although not before stomping his right foot down twice, no doubt getting dirt all over that spot of the room. Steve just rolled his eyes. It was a childish gesture but it wasn’t like he was able to do anything, so he just took it quietly and waited for Billy to come back.

“You know how to cook?” he asked, hopeful when Billy came back and had handed him the cup, which now sat cold as he held it over his thigh.

Billy crossed his arms as he sat down, looking at Steve in disbelief, like he already knew the answer to that question. “Do I look like someone who knows how to cook?”

“People can surprise you,” is all he said before taking a sip from the cup, creating an obnoxious slurping sound as he rubbed circles over the wet mark on his shorts, where the cup had previously been dripping.

When he looked up from the cup, he saw Billy staring at his broken leg, pillow in hand, looking like he wanted to do something, but not making a move. Steve waited, wondering if Billy would actually find it in himself to do something nice for someone else. But after a solid two minutes like that, Steve having pretended he was still drinking and barely looking up at Billy through the cup, he decided he wasn’t going to do anything and so he reached over to take the pillow back, opting to just do it himself. Billy’s hand stopped him, though, and with careful precision, he raised Steve’s leg up, placing the pillow back as it had been. 

Steve smiled at that, almost fond as he put the cup on the nightstand beside his bed, and Billy just looked away, not saying anything. Then he was up on his feet, throwing the other pillow at Steve’s head which Steve thought was fair because he had done it earlier. When he’d grabbed the pillow and pulled it from his face, he saw the quick figure of Billy slipping out of the room, having left with a quick, I’ll go pick something up.

Just like that, he was gone. Steve didn’t even have the chance to say thank you. He was left to wait, bored out of his mind and hoping that Billy wouldn’t be out long because there was nothing to do, except watch TV. So that’s what he did. For three hours.

Steve didn’t hear the door open. Not over the faint buzz of the TV, a channel that had gone dead. Somewhere along the horrifically long lines of waiting for Billy, he had passed out to the soft sounds of solitude. 

When Billy walked into the room, an apology was already forming on his lips. He might have actually said it, might have actually apologised for once in his life, but it faded all too quick when he saw Steve sleeping. Peaceful, still sitting upright and his head leaning back onto the headboard, mouth slightly agape. He knew if he stayed like that, he’d have a stiff neck waking up, and that’s never any fun, even less so for Steve who was already in a shitload of pain. But Billy didn’t quite have the nerve to wake him. Not forcefully anyways.

He set the pizza he had gotten down on the nightstand, next to Steve’s glass of water, mostly because it was greasy but also because he could physically feel it burning through his hand. And Steve’s stomach growled; Billy assuming because of the smell and the fact that Steve must have fell asleep starving. Something he had never been able to do-- sleep on an empty stomach. So he pondered in what ways he could wake Steve up without getting slapped, but came to no definite answer and instead shagged off his jacket. With quiet steps, he left the room, although not before grabbing Steve’s glass of water, just so he could refill it because he knew that he always woke up with a dry mouth.

He fumbled around in the kitchen, being stealthy and grabbing ice from inside of the fridge rather than using the dispenser on the outside, because that was way too loud. When it was once again filled to the brim, he grabbed a napkin and folded it, putting it under the glass when he had made it back to Steve’s room, to catch the water. As far as he was concerned, water rims on fine wood was just ugly, although it seemed that Steve hadn’t cared much about it before. 

Billy wiped his hands on his pants, getting rid of the condensation from the glass and then blew into his hands to warm them up. Only so his skin wouldn’t be cold to the touch when, as gently as he could, he lowered Steve down the bed, into a more comfortable position, only pausing when he let out a small groan and twitched. Once he repositioned the pillow under Steve’s injured leg, he shuffled around for the remote, lying on the bed, and turned off the TV. Just like that, the house was completely and utterly quiet. So quiet, in fact, that he would probably be able to hear it if Steve even shuffled in his sleep. Billy set the remote back down, grabbed a slice of pizza and exited the room, closing the door as quiet as possible behind him.

Once he reached the other side, shielded away from Steve, he let out a sigh he’d been holding in since he’d come back. He glanced thoughtful down the hall, only taking a bite of his pizza when his limbs had started to move towards the couch. Within the following five minute, he had done four things:

One, he had finished eating that slice of pizza.

Two, he had wiped his hands on his jeans because he was far too tired to get up and wash his hands.

Three, he thought about Steve, for a fleeting moment, before deciding that he hated him more than he’d ever hated anyone.

Four, he fell asleep wondering why he had been so kind to someone he hated. And he would have kept thinking about it, would have decided that it was because he’d never even had a reason to hate Steve. But his mind never got that far before he’d drifted off, somewhere quieter and less monotonous than this tiny apartment in the night.

The next morning, Billy woke up to Steve shouting his name. He would have ran to him, hearing the urgency, but quite frankly, he didn’t have that kind of energy. Who the hell did right when waking up? So he grouched and slid off the couch, making his way to Steve’s room and rubbing his eyes until he was at the door. Steve shouted for him again and it was so blisteringly loud this close that he almost recoiled, but instead held his ground and opened the door after rubbing his ear. He flicked the light on with impatience, and Steve’s mouth, which was probably preparing to scream again, shut tight and he did this small little grin that was nothing but evil, even as his eyes shut, not used to the sudden light.

“Good morning,” he said when he had adjusted and Billy slouched against the wall, one hand on his hip and waiting for Steve to go on. During this time, he glanced to the clock, which read 3:00 am, and he swore if he was further there, he would have slapped Steve for waking him up.

Steve never continued and Billy began to get impatient, tapping his fingers on his hip, clearly frustrated. Still nothing. “Okay, what, Harrington?” he practically teethed and Steve just smiled at him, that same sick smile.

Then, in almost, almost, a whisper, he said, “Nothing. I just wanted to say good morning.” And at that, Billy actually lunged forward and Steve held his hands up, shielding himself from whatever was coming his way. “Wait,” he tried but that didn’t stop the punch that had already landed on his cheek. Not completely anyways, because it was a lot less hard than Steve knew Billy could punch and while it still hurt like all hell, it wasn’t something that Steve couldn’t handle.

“What the fuck? You woke me up at three in the goddamn morning to say Good morning?” Billy could hardly control his anger, one hand now gripping at Steve’s shirt and pulling him forward until their faces were just inches apart.

“You left me alone for three hours last night, starving. If I could, I’d have done a lot worse.” And now Steve was the one looking unhappy, hand going to grip at Billy’s on his shirt and they just stayed like that a few moments, glaring. Until Billy shook Steve’s hand off of him and pulled back. 

“I’m going back to sleep.” With that, he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

“Wait, Hargrove!” Steve called, but Billy wasn’t having any of it, ignoring him and plopping back down on the couch.

But Steve didn’t let up and there was no way that he was going to get any sleep with Steve screeching like a vulture. “Shut the fuck up, Harrington,” he yelled back, groaning into the couch cushion because he’d known that this was going to be a pain but not this big of a pain. But Steve didn’t shut the fuck up, saying that this time he actually needed something and Billy wouldn’t have even batted an eyelash if not for the growing urgency behind Steve’s voice. So slowly, and with impatience, he pushed himself up from the couch and stalked back to Steve’s room.

Once he’d opened the door, he rubbed his hands down his face and said, “What?”

“I need more water.” And Billy almost slammed the door shut again, but Steve continued. “Leg’s killing me and I can’t take pills dry.” He made this awkward I’m sorry face and looked down at his lap. 

Billy said something like It’s okay and he would later blame that on sleep deprivation. Then he was out the door, and back in no more than thirty seconds, handing the glass to Steve and rooting through the nightstand drawer to find the pills the doctor had prescribed. He handed one to Steve who bit his lip and raised his eyebrows.

“The fuck is that face, Harrington? Only one at a time and you know it.”

Steve frowned and then raised the glass to his mouth, mocking Billy for being on edge before taking a sip and popping the pill in after. Billy rolled his eyes because he could definitely hear what Steve had said, but he was too tired to even argue anymore. So he just snatched the glass and put it back on the nightstand, placed precariously on the indent it had already made into the paper towel.

“You eat yet?”

“As if. Cold pizza is disgusting.”

Billy sighed and rubbed his temples, thinking that Steve really did act like a princess-- one spoiled way too much for her own good-- but he just said, “You’re a fucking headache.” Of course only to carry the box of pizza away and heat up two slices on a plate for half a minute, because Billy Hargrove wasn’t the type to bitch. Although he wasn’t the type to do what he was told, either. And in a situation like this, it was hard to tell what was even happening anymore. Hard to tell if this was even real, because like a little bitch, he was doing everything that Steve Harrington told him to do, and that was the last place he’d ever have seen himself. Not in a few months, in a year, or in twenty years. 

He dropped the plate on Steve’s lap when he got back and plopped back down on the chair still pulled up beside the bed, where he’d put his jacket last night. Steve tried grabbing a slice of pizza only to pull his hand back and complain it was too hot. Too cold, too hot. When the hell was he ever satisfied? “What, you want me to blow on it for you, too?” Billy scoffed, and scooted further back in his chair. And Steve gave him this look when he said that. An intrigued look, a look that said yes and Billy was immediately shaking his head.

“Hell no, Harrington. You can do that shit yourself.”

“I thought it was an offer,” he challenged, holding the plate out to Billy and Billy could only wonder where the sudden set of balls came from. Or maybe Steve was just bipolar as fuck. Either way, it was weird and he was pushing the plate away, pressing it to Steve’s chest.

“Then there’s even more wrong with you than I thought.”

Steve smiled, smiled, at that. And yeah, there was definitely a lot more wrong with him than Billy could have even imagined. But then the smile was gone and he was biting off a piece of pizza. Billy looked at him, dumbfounded because was he not just bitching that it was hot?

Pizza still in his mouth, Steve said, “I lied,” although it sounded more like oi loid. Billy knitted his brows together in confusion for only a split second before it kicked in.

“Asshole,” he said, but there was no real meaning behind it. Steve was just fucking around, not really unusualy shit. But still aggravating as hell. And Billy had always thought Steve was aggravating, but in a this-bitch-really-thought-he-was-king-but-now-it’s-me kind of way, not in a this-bitch-is-weird-and-i-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-him kind of way. Which is where he sat now, not knowing what the hell to do, and definitely not feeling the unusual bother of wanting to. He never wanted things like that. How could he, anyways, when he still had himself to fully figure out? 

Billy leaned back in his seat and felt around for his jacket, because the muscle shirt he was in was doing nothing to keep him warm. When he reached around for it, he remembered the reese’s pieces he’d bought when he went out for food last night. A small smile formed on his lips, fond and soft, barely there. And then he was shucking them out of the leather pocket and turning to Steve, smile obliterated. “Got you these.” He threw them to Steve who moved his healthy leg up to trap in on his lap as it flew across the air. 

To be utterly honest, Steve was scared. Getting food for them both was one thing, because he had to. So getting reese’s pieces, going out of his way, to get them for Steve; well, there was only one explanation for that. He must have poisoned them. Steve eyed the bag suspiciously, his eyes darting back up to Billy.

“Saw them at the corner store while I was getting a pack of smokes. Reminded me of you,” he said, fishing out his cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up, leaning back in his seat and letting the smoke blow over to Steve and cloud his face. Steve rubbed it away with a hand, wanting to yell at Billy about not smoking in the house because that shit stinks but also feeling kind of warm that he went out of his way.

“Why?” he asked, smile lighting up his face just after

“E.T. really likes reese’s pieces. You look like him, and you’re weird as fuck,” Billy shrugged and the smile was immediately ripped from Steve’s face, replaced by a glare and Billy actually laughed at that, because had Steve really thought there was another reason? He shook his head, taking another drag of the cigarette and eyeing Steve who, despite his glare, was opening the pack and shoving a few in his mouth.

“Didn’t take you as a nerd, Hargrove.” And Steve was smirking and Billy hadn’t even realized that this would be a slip up.

He would have choked, but there was nothing besides his saliva and the air in his lungs, and he still felt like he couldn’t breathe or move. Not until he could, was able to, and then he was telling Steve, “Shut the hell up or I’ll break your other leg.”

But he never denied it, because yeah. Maybe somewhere under Billy’s big bad wolf persona, he was a bit of a nerd. Not that he would ever openly admit that. To anyone, especially not Steve Harrington.

Steve shoved a few more reese’s pieces into his mouth, because E.T. definitely had good tastes in snacks, even if he was from another planet. Then he held the pack out to Billy who seemed hesitant for a moment, but then held his hand out. Steve tipped it over and let a few drop out, thinking Billy must have figured that he’d bought them so it only made sense he had a few. Otherwise, Steve wasn’t sure he actually would have. 

“So what took you so long last night?” Steve asked, looking up through his lashes as he popped a few more pieces into his mouth.

“Just got caught up in something.” Billy shivered, clasping his hand over his arm to calm himself when he did, because he knew it was fucking visible and if it was visible, then Steve would ask more questions, and Billy definitely didn’t want him asking any more questions about last night.

He still raised an eyebrow, looking at Billy’s hand. “What happened?”

“Just stuff. Nothing important.” His voice was cold, but that seemed not to stop Steve from pressing on.

“What stuff?”

“Jesus, Harrington, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Billy yelled, standing up with his jacket and leaving the room with a slam of the door.

Steve almost called after him when he rampaged out, because he hadn’t meant to make Billy upset. Didn’t think it would be that serious. And Billy was actually being kind of nice for once. But in the end, he didn’t call out. Didn’t want to risk making him even more upset, and decided to just keep his mouth closed, replacing the emptiness of words with reese’s pieces and wondering what he could do to ease Billy’s anger. So far, he hadn’t found anything, and really, he wasn’t sure if he would.

The next morning, it seemed Billy was still upset when he went in the check on Steve. His eyes were dark and he wasn’t saying much, even when Steve tried to talk to him. He just filled the glass of water back up to the brim and set a bowl of cereal down on the nightstand, before leaving-- without having said a single word. Steve picked up on his thoughts from last night, wondering what he could do. Everything seemed pretty lame, and considering he couldn’t really move, that hindered a lot of his ideas. So he figured apologizing would be the best bet, as agonizingly plain as that was.

It took thirty grueling seconds of chugging and he was calling for Billy because he needed more water. Billy didn’t answer at that, and Steve figured it was because he’d just filled the glass and he probably should have thought about that beforehand-- before he’d tortured himself. Plan B.

“Billy, I really gotta piss. That water went right through me.” And yeah it was a weird as fuck and embarassing thing to shout, but it wasn’t like Billy didn’t have to fucking piss sometimes, and in Steve’s defense, he hadn’t in at least a day and a half. But realizing that Billy would just let him piss himself, he knew it was time to resort to Plan C. One that would admittedly hurt like hell, but at this point, Steve thought that Billy might actually just abandon him entirely. That wasn’t an option. 

So, with care, Steve threw his bad leg over the bed, twisting his body with it and making his other leg follow suit. Now or never, he told himself and then he just hopped from the bed, falling on his arms and reaching behind himself to straighten his legs. With a sigh, he started crawling forward, closing his eyes because this was actually the worst thing possible. But he was pretty sure Billy had actually left by now and he did have to piss, and if Billy wasn’t coming back, he’d have to get to the phone and call someone--

For someone with a broken leg, there was a potential shitload he’d have to do. So he kept crawling over towards his wheelchair in the corner of the room, deciding that it should have just been left beside his bed. But then he ran into something, and when he opened his eyes, there was a pair of boots in front of him. His eyes trailed up a pair of jeans, to a blue button-up and further until they reached the face of Billy Hargrove, who was looking down at him in a mix of disbelief, anger, and amusement. 

“Hi,” Steve said, embarrassed as all fucking hell, because he didn’t think that Billy would actually come back here.

“Hi,” Billy answered back, before reaching down and picking Steve up by his armpits to hoist him back up onto the bed. He raised an eyebrow and when Steve didn’t say anything, he started speaking again. “Okay, why the fuck were you on the ground instead of in your rich, fluffy bed? Because if you’d rather be down there, I’ll fucking take it and you can haul your ass onto the couch--”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

“That’s great and all, but it doesn’t answer why--”

Steve cut him off again and it was starting to piss him off. Until he heard what Steve had to say after rolling his eyes. “About last night. About pressing questions. It’s not like we’re fucking friends. So, I’m sorry.”

“So, you jumped out of the bed with a broken leg to tell me you’re sorry?”

Steve looked around the room and scratched his head. “Yes?” He sighed. “I don’t fucking know. I thought you were gonna leave me for dead.”

And Billy had the gall to actually laugh. “As if, pretty boy. I’m stuck with you now as much as we both fucking hate it.” But he was smiling, and Steve wasn’t sure that he really hated it so much as he was letting on. He didn’t seem angry anymore, though, so Steve smiled too.

“Okay, but I actually need to piss,” he said a few minutes later and Billy just groaned. 

Billy went out later in the day, unbeknownst to Steve who was taking a nap. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stay passed out, so he figured better to make this trip fast. Not that he planned to take all day, anyways, because the last place Billy Hargrove ever wanted to be was at a bookstore during the weekend. Especially if he was searching for cookbooks. That didn’t mean it didn’t take at least an hour to find one that was secluded enough, though, because he definitely wasn’t going to let anyone he knew see him there.

The store smelled weird when he had stepped inside, like fresh books, mold, and coffee. He’d never been into a bookstore before, and rarely libraries so he figured it was normal, but it was still an odd scent to him. Though not completely unpleasant. He wrinkled his nose and stepped further inside, hearing the bell chime above the door. In a matter of seconds, three pairs of eyes were on him; the cashier, someone shelving books, and another employee sitting down with a book and a mug of coffee.

He scratched the back of his head and stepped in further, clearing his throat and going up to the first shelf, bending over and scanning it. Nothing. When he shuffled further along that shelf, the person who had been shelving books raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “Looking for something in particular?”

For a second, he stood there, wondering if he should take help from a nerdy redhead. But he figured it’d be faster that way and nodded. “Uhm… Cookbooks.” He flashed a smile and got an eye roll in return.

“This way,” she said, beckoning him with her finger and wandering off to the third shelf. When he rounded the corner, he noticed a shelf of movies in the back, with VHS written over them and complementary subgenres. He’d have to check that out. “Go crazy,” the redhead said and left him to go continue shelving books, but not before he said a quiet thank you and bent down to look at the selection of cookbooks. 

He wasn’t an expert and he didn’t know what to choose, so he settled for the first five he saw and went to the front desk. He set them down and then raised his finger, saying One second as he jogged off to the movie section. He found Alien, which was by far his favorite horror movie ever since it had been released. And luckily enough, E.T. was there, so of course he picked that up, if for no reason but to tease Steve some more and watch him grumble about it. With a quick smile, he jogged back up to the front desk and set them down. The cashier popped a piece of bubble gum in her mouth and counted out the subtotal, which made Billy wince because damn, he hadn’t been thinking about the price. Even so, he paid and left in a hurry, not expecting anyone else to come in because it was deserted as hell, but also not wanting to risk it.

When he got back, Steve was still sleeping, so he quietly set everything down on the kitchen counter and opened one of the cookbooks. Nope, too hard, he decided after a minute of flipping pages and opened the next one. He almost threw that one out, too, but something caught his eye, and he flipped back to that page. 

Fish tacos.

His mom had always made those when he was younger. He smiled at the memory, deciding not to dwell on any of the negative thoughts that had hopped along for the trip down memory lane. Instead he held the cookbook open to that page, writing down the list of ingredients and sorting around Steve’s kitchen. The hobo only had salt and beer, as far as what he needed. Not that he had expected him to have much of it, but he expected him to have more than this. 

With a sigh, he crossed off salt and beer on the list and knew he would have to go out again. Shopping for groceries was hardly better than shopping for cookbooks. But he was actually kind of excited about the attempt to cook this, so he didn’t mind too much. The smile that had found its way to his face faded when he heard shuffling in the back room, followed by a small yawn, that admittedly sounded more like a kitten mewling. Then he heard his name, almost inaudible. He decided to mess with Steve, and grabbed a knife from the drawer by the sink, dragging it along the marbled counter. 

“Hargrove, is that you?” Steve asked, voice low and sounding just barely frightened. Billy started walking down the hall, bending low and dragging the knife along the floor half because he didn’t want Steve to see him and half because he didn’t want to leave scratches on the wall. He could hear more shuffling and then a small thump, although he wasn’t sure what caused that. When he got to the bedroom door, he pressed his body against the wall and tapped the knife on the door a few times. He didn’t hear anything and jumped out into the room. Steve was nowhere in sight and Billy rolled his eyes because did this dumbass really jump out of bed again?

Billy set the knife down and walked around to the other side of the bed, where Steve was sitting against the wall with a baseball bat that had nails sticking out of it in every direction. “Okay, what the fuck is that?” Billy asked, incredulous, and swiped the bat from Steve.

“What the hell, Hargrove? I thought you were a murderer.”

“One, no one would waste their time killing you. Two, you gonna explain why you even own this?” he asked again and twirled the bat around in his hand.

“Uh…” Steve looked to the side. “Hunting?”

Billy nodded. “Yeah, sure.” But he didn’t press it because quite frankly, he didn’t care that much. So he put the bat down, once again hoisting Steve back up onto the bed. He was beginning to think that Steve was actually plotting escape or some shit.

“Anyways, I’m gonna go out and grab some shit to cook. Don’t go anywhere.”

Steve rolled his eyes at that because as if he’d be going anywhere. “Don’t take forever this time. I’m starving.”

“You just woke up, how the fuck are you--”

“If you hadn’t noticed, my adrenaline got spiked thanks to a certain blonde asshole.”

Billy mocked him and walked to the kitchen briefly, going back to throw a granola bar at Steve, who just barely caught it. And with a cocky, sickening grin, he was out the door, leaving Steve to wonder how long he would be waiting this time.

But Billy actually didn’t take long. He was gone for no more than forty-five minutes before Steve heard the front door opening again, and to be frank, he was genuinely impressed. “Not gonna try to kill me this time?” he called, and he heard Billy scoff somewhere in the kitchen.

“Dunno, depends on whether or not you’re a good boy.”

This time Steve was scoffing, a facade as he was glad Billy wasn’t in there. Because he was sure he looked like a tomato right about then. 

Meanwhile Billy had started unpacking the bags, hearing something playing on Steve’s TV, although he wasn’t sure what. It’d be something different soon, anyways. When everything was set down, he took a look at the instructions written neatly in the cookbook, along with the photos that went along. Only four steps, so he figured it would be easy enough. But he was very much wrong, because not five minutes later he was coughing and covered in powder as he stirred a mix of ingredients-- including beer-- into a large bowl. And he may or may not have had a can of beer along the way of mixing. 

“Are you dying in there?” Steve called, probably because of all the coughing and Billy gave a weak I’m fine as he set the bowl down and grabbed another bowl to make a sauce in because of course that was only the batter and he was already tired of this mixing thing. 

When the sauce was done, the next step was to heat oil in a deep fryer, which Steve didn’t have, so he opted to use a pot instead. Same thing. Although he wouldn’t admit it, but he was scared because he had no doubt in his mind that he would somehow burn himself in the process of trying to cook the fish. Either way, he threw them into the batter until they were ready to be fried and went to Steve’s room to wait for the oil to be hot enough.

Steve was laughing almost immediately when Billy walked in, because he had neglected to clean himself of the flour and he looked like the ghost of a hunk come to haunt pretty boys. “What.. the hell are you… making in there?” he managed through laughter and Billy swore he could have punched him but instead turned his head swiftly. 

“Keep it up and you won’t be having any.”

“Who says I want your crap cooking?”

And Billy would have been offended, but Steve was very much right so he glared and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame. “You’ll be taking that back when you see it.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Hargrove.” A challenge and Steve was smirking-- which he really had no right to be doing given his current position. Although he was very right. Billy also wasn’t sure of himself but he didn’t think whatever he made could be that bad, especially not if he followed the instructions correctly. Which, to be fair, Billy Hargrove was never really one to follow instructions anyway. 

“Oh, I’m not. But I’m sure you’ll be starving later.” With that, he kicked himself off the wall and made his way back into the kitchen, faintly hearing Steve say something like, touché.

A few minutes of idly reading the backs of spice bottles and he heard the sound of bubbles popping. When he glanced up the oil had gone from faint boiling to a full-on explosion of crackling and bubbles rising to the surface, over and over again. It looked pretty cool, and part of Billy wanted to reach out and touch it, but the bigger part wasn’t a dumb bitch and kept his hand by his side. 

He grabbed the fish that he had already battered and carefully dropped them into the pot, getting a third of their body into the oil before letting them fall and jumping back so he wasn’t sprayed by the splatters of oil it created. He repeated this-- jump and all-- until the oil was sizzling around all four fish.

It took several minutes before he deemed that they were all done, and he grabbed plate, setting it down on the counter next to the pot and draping a few paper towels over it. Then he found a spatula which he had to clean before using, and he carefully grabbed each piece of fish to set down on the paper towels. When he was done, he turned the stove off and moved the towel, patting the fish down with another paper towel he had grabbed so they weren’t completely doused in oil when eaten.

“How much longer?” Steve called from the bedroom and Billy rolled his eyes because he was just like a little kid. 

“A few minutes, Harrington.” And he somewhat heard a small sigh as he grabbed two more plates and set them on the center island, with all the cookbooks, and the sauce. He placed two taco shells on each plate, raiding the bottoms of the shells with cabbage, and other essentials before gently sliding the fish on, which burnt his finger like hell. He blew on them and shook them around, eyes quenched tight until the pain had subsided to a dull ache. Then he grabbed a spoon and lightly dribbled the white sauce onto the fish, not too much, but also not too little. 

A part of him wanted to take a picture, because it was the first time he made something so complicated and it actually looked really good. But he didn’t feel like rooting around for a camera and instead took a shot in his brain, storing it away for later. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he grabbed both plates and practically sprinted to Steve’s room, because they were hot as hell on his palms. He set one down on Steve’s lap, who winced as the heat started to pool onto his thigh and he moved his knee up to rest the plate there, where he could hardly feel it. Billy thought that was a good idea, but uncomfortable in his chair, so he opted to cross his legs and set the plate in between his thighs, where it wasn’t really touching anywhere.

Steve poked the fish and rose an eyebrow. “It actually... “ He paused and Billy looked at him in anticipation, expecting him to push it away and say he couldn’t eat it. “Looks really good,” he finished, and Billy smiled, his ego boosted because King Steve thought something he cooked actually looked good. And then the thought just made him feel gross, like a house maid and he was grunting, taking a bite of one of his tacos and silently regretting it because they were still super hot and his tongue would be scolding him if it could.

With a small snicker, Steve blew on his tacos, knowing damn well that they were still scorching and starting to think that Billy Hargrove was even more of a dumbass than him. Although, he really doubted that much.

Billy followed suit soon after, blowing on what was left of his tacos after he’d already bitten off a solid half of one. The stray thought that Billy had a really big mouth flashed across Steve’s mind and then got tossed in his brain-bin; aka the trashcan of thoughts that deserved no light. He shivered, knowing that thought had been inappropriate and also knowing that it had been tossed out of his brain-bin and back to the forefront of his mind where it definitely didn’t belong. But he didn’t have the time to complain about his own shit because Billy Hargrove was sitting across from him, in all his glory, and taking another huge bite of his taco. He looked up and his eye’s met Steve’s, who immediately looked away and busied himself taking a bite of his own taco-- finally. It was a much smaller bite than Billy’s although still bigger than he had anticipated, because he planned to take a cautious bite first, to test the waters because One, he’d never eaten fish tacos before and Two, Billy had made them.

But then his face was falling into pleasure because wow, that was a lot better than he’d anticipated. Billy looked up, proud again as he studied Steve’s face, eyes closed, head thrown back, and cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. It was a weird mix of hot and cute, and also Steve, which just made it ugly. For Billy, anyways, who snickered. “Damn, Harrington. Don’t cream your pants.”

Steve’s eyes were open again, head falling forward as he glared and chewed furiously so he could swallow. “Actually, I was about to puke.”

“Aha, sure.” He rolled his eyes for like the gazillionth time in the past couple of days, because that’s just the effect Steve had on him.

“Hey, so, wanna watch a movie?” Billy asked after they’d finished eating and he’d thrown the dishes into the sink, having ignored Steve’s shouting in response to all the clanking.

“Aww, like a date?” Steve countered, raising his shoulders all flattered and batting his eyelashes.

“On second thought, I’ll be in the front room if you need me,” Billy said, turning on his heel from where he was standing by the door. 

He faintly heard soft laughs coming from behind him before Steve cleared his throat and said, “Wait, wait, come back. Yeah, I’d like to watch a movie.” And Steve was still laughing a little, trying to contain it and Billy smiled as he walked back to the kitchen and returned with his new copy of Alien.

“Well then, I hope you won’t mind if I make you scream.” He smirked and wiggled the movie in front of his chest, flicking off the light as he moved to put it in the VHS player. And Steve was glad the light was off, because otherwise he wouldn’t be sure how to hide that small inkling of fright that had snuck up on him-- or the obvious blush. His face was in his hands when Billy turned back around, and he raised an eyebrow. “Damn Harrington, it hasn’t even started yet.” For a split second he thought about not playing the movie but, nah, he wasn’t that nice. So he hit play and threw himself back on Harrington’s bed. That’s what got him to remove his hands from his face and look at Billy like what the fuck? Again. Billy just bit his lip and smiled. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s a long movie.”

Steve glared and definitely wouldn’t admit it, but yeah, he didn’t mind. So just like that, the movie started and neither of them talked about how Steve gradually scooted closer to Billy at some parts. How his hand had shot out to grab Billy’s arm once, at a truly excruciating scene. And they definitely didn’t talk about how Steve was practically cuddled into Billy by the end of the movie. Or how Billy let it happen. 

They fell asleep like that, without getting to watch E.T. Because they were both far too comfortable to actually move, not to mention terrified to.

When Steve woke up, it was with a sore neck, an arm thrown around his pillow, and a cup of coffee sitting on his nightstand. Not that he needed coffee for anything. He didn’t need much energy in general since he broke his leg-- or more since Billy broke his leg. Clutching his head, he sat up and grabbed the mug, taking a quick sip and realizing that it was still hot. Which meant that Billy must have been in there not long ago to bring it. “Hargrove?” he called, leaning his head to look through the open door and seeing that the kitchen light was on. Billy’s ass came into view, and then his head and torso and eventually the rest of his body as he peered over at Steve with a plate in his hand. 

“I was just about to wake you up. I’m making breakfast. How do you like your eggs?” He asked it so casually but it was so weird, to have Billy Hargrove asking him how he liked his eggs in the morning. Like some type of joke straight from a one night stand in a movie. 

Still, he answered with, “Over medium.” Billy nodded and then ducked back out of view. Steve could hear the fridge opening and the click of the stove turning on. He tried shuffling around to find the remote, but saw it was placed on the VCR, left there from the movie they’d been watching last night. With a groan, he threw himself in half, reaching for the end of bed, to lean over and grab the remote, but he failed miserably and was left half on the bed and half hanging off. The position left him twisted and uncomfortable as he was bent over his hurt leg. In the end he just gave up and flailed, letting himself stay that way until he turned his head and saw Billy looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Y’know. You could have just said something.” He shook his head and walked over, mumbling dumbass under his breath as he set the two plates in his hand on the nightstand. With that, he went over and holsted Steve back up to a sitting position, wondering how the hell he’d even managed to bend over like that. People weren’t giving him enough credit for his flexibility. Billy snickered as he grabbed his plate and shoveled some eggs into his mouth; his being scrambled, because he was lazy. 

Steve poked and prodded at his own food and Billy sniffed as he glared. “I’m really not trying to poison you, Harrington.”

Steve glanced up at him with wide eyes. He’d done that thing again, thinking that Billy was out to kill him even though he was being way kinder than like-- ever before. “Yeah, I know.” He nodded. “But how come you got more bacon than me?” He reached out his hand to snatch a piece from Billy, who quickly swatted it away and retracted his plate.

“Keep your grubby hands off my food. I made it, that’s why.” He huffed and munched angrily on a piece of bacon, the one that Steve would have inevitably stolen if he’d been too slow.

“I made it that’s why,” Steve mocked and took a bite of his own bacon. Billy almost said something, but opted to huff again and finish eating his food. When he was done, he stood up and grabbed the remote from the VCR, handing it to Steve.

“Here you go, princess.” He gave a knowing smirk as Steve turned the TV on and cringed as the title screen for Alien showed up, making him recount his fright from last night. “I bought another movie, by the way.”

Steve looked up at him sheepishly, not seeming to have the same tastes in movies as Billy. “Yeah, what is it?”

Billy held up a finger and ran off to the kitchen, just like he had before. Which was weird. Things becoming familiar with Billy. He held it out to Steve who took it and squinted at the wrinkly face on the cover. He groaned when he realized it was E.T. Of course it was. It didn’t seem Billy would be letting that particular joke go soon, if ever. But whatever, it was a better movie than Alien. So he handed it back and watched as Billy set that one up, wondering if they would end up as they had last night. 

They didn’t. Because in broad daylight, while they were wide awake, they’d never be able to hide it or blow it over as circumstantial.


End file.
